


Snowy Shenanigans (aka Mischief Managed)

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Smut, Episode Related, F/M, Mischief Managed, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Snow, That's realism right out of the window
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: “I don’t want anyone taking chances, so lock your door.” he’d stated, leaving no room for argument.Naturally, she’d found herself a nice little niche.Set during Murder Under the Mistletoe. Snow, shenanigans and smut. What more could anyone want during Christmas, really? ‘Tis the season to be smutty, and such.





	Snowy Shenanigans (aka Mischief Managed)

**Author's Note:**

> Where I live, we celebrate two days of Christmas; on the 25th and the 26th of December (yes, that’s twice the amount of food). I wrote this on the night in-between (literally, it’s 3.30AM as we speak), so technically it’s still a Christmas Phrack. Please don’t ask me about plot, or storyline, or this being anywhere near realistic as I wrote this drabble all in one go, still failing at short smut. Before coming to AO3, I never dabbled into writing things that would appear unrealistic, but unfortunately I have too fanciful of an imagination and simply had to write this bunny down in order to sleep. Merry Christmas, lovely ones.  
> -DVW

_“Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.”  
_

― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

 

“I don’t want anyone taking chances, so lock your door.” he’d stated, leaving no room for argument.

Naturally, she’d found herself a nice little niche.

“But Jaaack...if I lock my door, nobody could get in.” she’d countered, a slight whine to her voice, then dropping it to a lower register.

He’d paused, if only briefly, before making up his mind.

“It’s too great a risk, Miss Fisher. Lock it tight. Goodnight.”

And then he’d swayed towards her, minutely, before moving away from her, no doubt heading for the safety of his own bedroom.

She’d been replaying their conversation in her mind’s eye over the past few hours, feeling restless and frustrated. She kicked against the blankets in some sort of act of rebellion, before pulling the duvet and bedspread back up to cover her body. It was too cold to go without them, she decided. Yet, for all the cold that had seeped into her bedroom through the crevices of the old house, she felt remarkably hot. Especially on the inside, and it was quickly accumulating, threatening to burst. As if the heat from inside of her body clashed with the cold in the room, causing some kind of delicious friction that appeared to concentrate itself at the apex of her shapely thighs.

Bloody Jack Robinson and his ability to make her feel this way. Lately, just a determined look, a stray curl on his forehead or a casual touch would send a pleasant hum through her body.

And cause her to obey his wishes and lock her damned door, apparently.

Her desire for him had only been amplified after his late night visit, not too many weeks ago. It wasn’t the first time she’d touched herself to thoughts of him, but it had been the first time she’d been so desperate to. He’d barely left her doorstep as she’d gathered her wits on the other side of the door, fairly certain her heart was beating a very unhealthy but excited rhythm against her ribs. She’d nearly ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time (a great way to avoid any third degree by Aunt Prudence, she found), closing the door of her bedroom behind her before flinging herself onto the bed, laying supine on top of the covers. She hadn’t even bothered to remove her black embroidered robe; she’d simply pulled it up and out of the way so she could plant the soles of her feet on the fur at the end of the bed and push her fingers inside of her dripping heat. She’d started out with two, then quickly added a third as her wet cunt pulled them inside of her body, pressing down on her clitoris with the heel of her hand. Her other hand fumbling with her breast, roughly pinching her nipple through the silk of her robe as she imagined he might. It had only taken a couple of strokes until she’d shuddered, her body succumbing to the mind numbing pleasure as she’d called out his name to the empty room.

He hadn’t even touched her during his short visit, yet the promise in his eyes as he’d told her ‘not always’...it’d left her feeling bereft and aching for anything to fill the void (and not just literally). Her body had been throbbing as it had demanded any kind of release. Her mind had called out for his presence.

It would be a great risk, taking him to her bed. She knew, by now, that he cared for her. Possibly loved her, even, and the fact that she hadn’t yet made a beeline for the hills probably scared her even more than his between-the-lines proclamation. She just wasn’t sure it would be _too great_ of a risk, as he’d mentioned earlier; she was fairly certain it would be most pleasurable, although the aftermath had the potential to turn rather messy. Potential, but it wasn’t a guarantee that their coupling would be an instant recipe for disaster.

She wasn’t a fool; she knew Jack, and she knew exactly when he would say one thing yet mean something else entirely. Something that would remain unsaid, yet _had_ been said, just not in so many words.

Yes, it would be a risk to leave her door unlocked with a murderer lurking somewhere around the premises. But it would also mean she’d thereby eliminate any obstructions if Jack were to decide to come to her bed on his own volition. That, to him, would be too great of a temptation. Too great a risk, indeed.

Apart from which, Jack could, on occasion, be somewhat of a cocky bastard. He’d probably teased her for two reasons (and not just today, mind you); to preserve his own sanity and modesty, and – she surmised - to completely derail hers in the process. She grudgingly had to admit that it was working, at least to a certain degree.

And had that been a smug smirk lurking somewhere around his lips as he’d resisted her charms, once again?

That _infuriating_ man!

She rolled over with an undignified huff.

Oh. He would pay _dearly_ for that one. He may have won that round, but she had her goal set on winning the entire battle.

That infuriating, mysterious, and altogether terrifyingly arousing man wouldn’t know what hit him. Literally.

* * *

 

Which is how she found herself at Jack’s door in the middle of the night, down the hall from hers, near the servant’s quarters. Holding a bucket of snow. She was shivering in her rather short satin grey nightgown and matching robe, but it hardly mattered, because she was about to get back at Jack. He’d rue the day he’d laughed at her, thinking he got one over her. When she’d – about as subtly as the freight train he’d once compared her to – asked him to come into her bedroom with her, no less! And not for the first time either...but she digressed.

She’d happily help him out of his victorious dream. She sniggered inwardly. Perhaps this was all a bit childish, not to mention dangerous, but she couldn’t resist. It thrilled her. Being away from home, in a different environment, and with Jack simply looking utterly delicious in his more casual attire...

Too bad there was a murderer on the loose. This dampened her desire, but only mildly, as the adrenaline that came with attempting to solve a murder coursed through her veins.

Part of her indirect proposal had only been in jest, to see if he would take her bait. Lately, however, she felt her flirtations had somehow turned into something more...genuine. Serious, perhaps? Part of it was a tease, but the other part...she hardly dared to think about that. That strong undercurrent that threatened to pull her under and wash over her until she could scarcely breathe, crushed by the waves of overwhelming emotions.

Thwarted love.

* * *

 

Picking a lock with icicles for fingers was going to prove somewhat of a challenge, she mused. However, she was not to be deterred! Her cold fingers reached inside of her robe to retrieve her lock pick and she hissed ever so softly at the contact of her frozen digits against the warm skin of her chest. Squatting down until she was at eyelevel with the lock, a delicately shaped eyebrow rose in mock surprise as she set down the bucket quietly.

So much for ‘locking it tight’, then. Well. If this weren’t an invitation, she didn’t know what was.

She knew he would have to be the one to - eventually - make the first move, but then again, there was no harm in helping him along, was there? And the opportunity to tease and torment Jack when he was at his most serious, to see his defences crumble...

To watch his face as she would dump that bucket of snow on his head, rousing him from his slumber. She could barely contain her giddiness.

Straightening, she grabbed the bucket in both hands; one at the rim and the other at the bottom, ensuring her of a proper and clean shot (or so she hoped) before making a mad dash for the exit. Turning, she placed her right elbow on the door handle, pushing down ever so slowly as to make as little noise as possible. She managed to open the door a tiny fraction, soft moonlight from the hallway illuminating the crack she’d created, before two strong hands suddenly grabbed her by the arms and pulled her into the room, swiftly closing the door behind her.

* * *

 

The bucket filled with snow landed upside down on the carpeted floor with a loud thud as she found herself pressed face first into the other side of the door, her arms twisted onto her back, held by one large hand as the other pressed on her upper back. She could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he stood close to her, his breathing laboured and heavy in her left ear. Something hard and hot was poking rather insistently into her lower back.

“Jesus, Phryne!” he gasped in disbelief and suppressed anger, letting go of her hands immediately and stepping back, which allowed her to turn around to take in his appearance. Her heart skipped a beat at the sudden mention of her first name.

Apparently, Jack hadn’t been as affected by the cold as he appeared to have omitted wearing a shirt to bed. Her mouth watered at the sight of his almost ridiculously broad shoulders and chiselled chest tapering into a narrow waist, pebbled nipples, strong muscular arms and the trail of light brown chest hair that grew thick below his bellybutton and disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. She knew he liked to ride a bike in his scarce spare time, so the toned legs had come as no surprise to her in Queenscliff (although she _had_ admired them, thank you very much). However, she had no idea what kind of workout he executed to keep the upper part of his body in this kind of shape, but whatever it was he was doing; it was working.

And dear _God_ , those hands!

The room smelled faintly of sex and strongly of something indefinably _male_ , and she could tell he was straining against his pyjama pants, which appeared to have been thrown on haphazardly, considering he had them on backwards. The thought occurred to her that he might’ve taken himself in hand, that she had just happened upon him whilst he’d laid there, stroking himself into oblivion. She could hardly breathe as a rush of desire leapt through her. Oh, how she wished he would’ve come to her! She would’ve loved to have taken him into her hands...her mouth.

He looked...deliciously dishevelled, a look that immediately became her new favourite (right up there with ‘Loosened Collar’ and ‘Tuxedo’). His breathing was deep, his chest heaving and his eyes were burning with an intensity that almost scared her. This was the sight of a man who had been denied his release and was decidedly not amused.

He ran a hand through his loose curls as he quickly advanced on her. He caged her in, a hand on either side of her head, pushing her back against the door until there was only but a breath of space left between their bodies. She found she wasn’t intimidated by him, for when he spoke his voice was soft and caring (and still slightly angry). Also, him standing this close to her was rather distracting in many pleasurable ways.

“Miss Fisher... _why_ did you not stay in your room like I told you to? It’s not safe for you to be wandering the halls. Why must you _always_ defy me?” he asked almost tiredly, his eyes searching hers, his breath warm on her face. She noted, with dark satisfaction, the dilation of his pupils. She knew right away that he wasn’t just referring to her defying him when it came to their work-relationship.

“Why, Jack...if I would never defy you, I would never get to see you all... _riled up_...and I must say, I simply love that look on you.” she replied coquettishly in that low voice she knew affected him, as she boldly pressed her body against his, closing the distance that had remained between them. Loving the way his erection pressed into her lower belly as she rubbed herself up against it, tracing a single cold finger down the front of his upper body.

He let out a pained groan, yet pushed back against her, bucking his hips as he buried his face on the side of her neck. Planting open-mouthed kisses there, suckling on the skin beneath her left ear with his wet tongue as his hands worked on the sash of her robe. His mouth was so hot and it took all of her willpower to focus on his next question, as she placed her hands on his broad shoulders, steadying herself. He hissed at the contact of her cold fingers upon his burning skin.

“And the snow?” She eyed the aforementioned bucket suspiciously, the snow rapidly creating a rather large wet spot on the carpet.

“Well, I was going to attempt to cool you down a bit Inspector, but it appears that’s now a closed door, as well.” she replied, her right hand straying from his left shoulder to cup his hard cock through the thin material of his pants, any witty reply quickly dying on his lips. She could feel the heat of him on her skin, and she realised he probably wasn’t wearing any smalls either. She pulled at him, moving the soft skin over his solid length through his pyjamas, swirling her thumb over the engorged head. She chuckled inwardly as she realised the snow wasn’t the only thing leaving a wet spot.

She was also fairly certain that, if she would’ve been wearing any underwear underneath her nightdress, it would be completely soaked by now. But she’d always been an opportunist and going commando appeared to have been a wise choice. 

“What is it with you and doors anyway, Miss Fisher?” he growled, as he bucked against her hand, his right hand closing into a tight fist beside her head as his left moved downwards to cup the cheek of her arse, squeezing and pulling her even tighter against his erection. She wrapped her right leg around his hip as he pulled it up by the back of her thigh, her bare foot stroking the back of his muscled calf as she ground her slick cunt against his upper leg. The coarse material of his pants creating a lovely friction against her clit. 

“Whatever do you mean, Jack?” she gasped, not willing to give in just yet, even though she figured any minute now, she would start dripping onto the floor, her hot moisture mixing with the cold snow. He aroused her in ways that made her go wild, desperate and craving only his touch on her body.

“Whenever I close one door, you always seem to find another way to get in.” he whispered against the soft skin of her throat. The metaphor wasn’t lost on her and her heart fluttered. His right hand found her breast as he squeezed it through the material of her slip, pinching her nipple, slightly pulling and tugging. Her inner muscles clenched.

“Better lock this one tight then, Jack.” Using his own words against him, unsure of the underlying meaning of her words but feeling the need to show him that she was committed to him, in one way or another. She was no one’s to keep, but she found she wouldn’t mind lingering – for quite a while – when it came to Jack.

She moaned in sweet delight, grabbing a firm hold of his shoulders and sinking her short nails into his broad, bare back as he twisted her nipple on a particularly rough thrust of his hips.

“So nobody could get in?” he retaliated immediately, delivered in that low, raspy purr in her ear, throwing her words back at her as he moved his hand from her breast to the back of the leg holding her up, moving up and underneath her nightdress. His realisation at her lack of unmentionables when coming upon her wetness, punctuated by a strained curse, was like music to her ears as he dropped his head onto her shoulder at the irony of his own words.

“I was rather thinking along the lines of nobody being able to get out.” she smirked, her eyes meeting his as he raised his head, before pulling him down into a searing kiss.

 


End file.
